


used to dream you up and make you up in my mind (and all i ever wanted was to be understood)

by brophigenia



Series: kavinsky does the gangsey on fire [7]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anal Sex, Butt Plugs, Dirty Talk, Half Hearted Roleplay, Jealousy, Joseph Kavinsky Lives, M/M, Possessiveness, Roleplay, Virginity Roleplay, an attempt to make it OKAY that proko is a forgery, dumb boys in love, k is still a nerd i don't care what y'all fucking say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 07:10:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15576540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brophigenia/pseuds/brophigenia
Summary: Ilya Prokopenko didn't like to share.(After K fucks the whole gangsey, Proko is feeling a bit neglected. He decides to spice things up, with sexy results.)





	used to dream you up and make you up in my mind (and all i ever wanted was to be understood)

**Author's Note:**

> If you didn't think this was coming, you obviously don't know me very well. 
> 
> Title from the SUPER on-the-nose _One Day Robots Will Cry_ by Cobra Starship. Oh yeah. I'm THAT bitch.

Ilya Prokopenko didn’t like to share.

This was a fact.

Ilya Prokopenko didn’t like to share rooms, cars, names, drugs, _anything._

He _especially_ didn’t like to share K.

It was a necessary evil, though— a condition for _having_ K in the first place was that K belonged to no mortal being (or _immortal_ being, since he was a raving, blaspheming atheist whose idea of _Sunday worship_ was giving head to a nun) and thusly would behave in whatever way he wanted to.

It was fine. It was _fine._ Usually K was too lazy to fuck anybody that wasn’t pack, anyway, and that was almost not even like K was fucking someone that wasn’t Proko, since Proko knew that Swan and Skov and Jiang wouldn’t try to take K from him.

What _wasn’t_ fine was the way K had been sniffing around Lynch for like, two fucking years.

It _wasn’t fine,_ and then K got that _look_ on his face, the same one that had led to Proko dying the year before last, in a riotous explosion of bad decisions and dreamt-up fireworks. Luckily Proko had never actually been _alive_ in the first place, and so Dreaming him back to physical existence had been child’s play.

Still, Proko had come a long way from the days of being thirteen-year-old Joey Kavinsky’s imaginary friend come to glorious, awkward, pre-teenage life. Even at thirteen, K had had a _vivid_ imagination. Proko wouldn’t have ever even known he was a Dreamthing, if he hadn’t _known._ He remembered existing in the wild plains of K’s Dreams, remembered the world he’d known Before with startling clarity, even five years later.

He’d been _created_ to be K’s perfect match, the pinnacle of what K had considered to be desirable and all-consuming. Somewhere between Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Agent Dana Scully. Proko’s Dreamt-up birth certificate even listed his parents as _Spike and Dana Prokopenko._

He knew on some level that because of this, K would always come back to him. It didn’t matter how far he strayed, how enamoured he got of Lynch and his stuck-up buddies. He’d always come back to Proko.

Just maybe, sometimes, he might need a little _incentive_ to do so.

“Is this room 214?” Proko asked K, wide-eyed, dressed in his full Aglionby uniform, shirt buttoned all the way up, tie perfectly knotted and blazer crisply pressed. He’d even shined his fucking shoes. His hair was _combed._ And _gelled._

K, lounging in sweatpants in his large bed, gave him a leisurely once-over that lingered on the fit of Proko’s slacks and the way the double Windsor snugged up tight against his throat. “What the fuck, Proko?” He asked, finally registering the question.

“Oh no,” Proko said, stepping into the room and looking around in exaggerated disbelief and surprise even if his tone was flat, _obvious._ “I think that the administration has made a mistake. I am just a freshman, and I have been assigned a senior roommate.”

“No, really, what the fuck?” K asked. “Are you wearing fucking lipgloss?”

“What will a _young, naive, innocent_ freshman like me do with an _experienced senior_ roommate?” Proko went on, musing loudly to himself as he stepped further and further into the room. K’s cock was starting to harden in his sweats. Proko grinned, the expression sharklike and utterly breaking character.

“Oh no, and there’s only one bed! Whatever will we _do?”_

K grinned too, finally catching on. Fucking space cadet. Proko loved him so fucking much. He wanted to tear open K’s _skin_ and like, crawl inside and _live there,_ what the _fuck._ Why the hell had K made him so fucking _creepy?_

“I guess we’ll have to share. Just for tonight… until we can talk to the housing administration in the morning.” K said it with all the curling amusement of someone about to do something really, truly _terrible._ Someone who was gonna do something terrible and _enjoy it._

“Alright…” Proko said, feigning reluctance. _Shyness._ “It’ll be just like sleepovers at home!” He said brightly, and started to strip off his clothes, shoes and jacket first before his belt, socks, tie, shirt, trousers, until finally he stood before K in nothing but tight white boxer briefs. His cock distended the fabric, hard and leaking at the tip. “Ummm…” Proko said, and fidgeted nervously. K mumbled a low _fuck_ and Proko fought down a smile. He was in character, dammit.

“I don’t have any pajamas with me…” he said, and K smiled, clearly aiming for _reassuring_ but missing the mark by a mile and landing on _hungry._

“That’s fine. You can just sleep in your underwear. We’re both guys, huh?” K cajoled, and Proko smiled nervously as he got into the bed next to K.

“Thanks, man,” he said, and then paused, exaggerated. “I wish there was some way to repay you for being so cool about this.” It was leading, and not very elegant, but Proko wasn’t a fucking playwright. He wanted to fucking _come._

“Well…” K drew out the word until it was something suggestive, something _obscene._ “If you really wanted to… there’s something you could do for me.”

“Anything!” Proko exclaimed, bright and eager, modeling himself after the freshmen who always heckled Three Dicks on campus, vying for a scrap of attention.

“Have you ever sucked cock, kid?” K _purred_ it, and Proko blinked at him in false shock, trying to will his cheeks to flush. They wouldn’t _quite_ do it, but he brought his hands up to his face as if he was embarrassed and subtly pinched them so they’d flood with color.

“I— no, I never—” he trailed off meaningfully, and sucked his lower lip into his mouth. K’s pupils dilated. _Got you,_ Proko thought triumphantly. “But… you’ve been so nice to me… and I always wanted—“ he cut himself off sharply, as if embarrassed. Ashamed, a little, maybe.

“Always wanted somebody to fill up that pretty mouth?” K asked, and hooked two fingers into Proko’s cheek, dragging him close. If Proko was some nubile virgin freshman then he’d surely have scared him off with the move, but K knew (oh _Christ,_ did K know) exactly how much of a virgin Proko was _not._

“Yes, I’ve always felt so…” Proko paused for effect, fluttering his lashes and making his voice _breathless._ Overcome. “Empty.”

K _growled._ It was Proko’s favorite sound in the world. K growled and then flipped him onto his stomach, and Proko grinned into the pillows.

“I’ll show you fucking _empty,_ Jesus Christ—“ K snarled, frenetic, dragging Proko’s ruined briefs down his thighs just enough so he could get at his ass, and then he swore and Proko _beamed,_ stretching his arms over his head to brace them against K’s plush, cigarette-burned headboard. He knew what K was seeing. He knew because he’d put it there for him to find.

K traced the plug _reverently._ There was no other word for it. Proko shivered, pleased, and turned his head so he could see K’s face, hiding his own smile in his bicep. “Where’d you fucking—“ he touched the flat of the plug gently, and Proko knew he was tracing the raised _K_ stamped there. The internet was a fucking _beautiful_ place.

“Proko,” K murmured, soft then, and Proko hummed, wiggling his hips around to try and move the play along a bit. _“Baby.”_

It made Proko’s throat ache. It had been too fucking long. He didn’t let the rest of the pack touch him, and certainly he wouldn’t let anyone _else,_ either. He didn’t want anybody but K. He never had, not since he’d woken up next to K and been brand new, thirteen and raw-skinned like a newborn baby, blinking up at K’s enraptured face. He’d been created for this, to love K. To never leave him.

K pulled out the plug _gently,_ petting over his ass carefully, checking to make sure he was okay before he shoved in, all thick sturdy cock, and god, Proko fucking _loved it._ It was terrible. It was fucking _wonderful,_ and K was gasping in his ear, all _mine mine mine_ and _fucking don’t know what you do to me, baby_ and _you’re so good_ and, Proko’s favorite, _Ilya Ilya Ilya._

“Make me fucking come,” he demanded, twisting enough that he could kiss K, could clench a hand in K’s hair. Bratty, the way K liked when he was in this kind of mood, wound up and _wanting._ “Joey, make me fucking _come.”_

K dragged him up, dragged him backwards until he was perched on K’s thighs and had to bounce on his cock, and it was good, it was so good— there was nothing in the world better than this, K’s hand around him and their lips pressed together and K’s cock so deep inside him he could feel it in his fucking _throat._

He came like that, and then K did, biting down viciously in the join of his neck and shoulder. Marking him.

They tangled together in the afterglow; Proko could hear K’s heart beating in time with his own. It always did. Of course it did. They were the same, really. He was a part of K. Like K had torn out part of himself and Proko had grown out of it, around it, like those fucking Bible stories that K’s mother used to make them sit through church to listen to.

“You know you don’t gotta be jealous of anybody.” K said it very, very quietly. “You’re not like the rest.”

“Babe,” Proko said, turning a vicious smile on him. “I’m jealous of _everybody.”_

**Author's Note:**

> follow me @ brophigenia.tumblr.com


End file.
